


London thick with rain at twilight

by twoandfour



Category: British Actor RPF, Loki/Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Tom/Loki - Fandom, frostpudding - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandfour/pseuds/twoandfour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The last few months have been rough. I wrote this as a bit of self-medication.</p>
    </blockquote>





	London thick with rain at twilight

**Author's Note:**

> The last few months have been rough. I wrote this as a bit of self-medication.

The silence buzzed into Loki's brain, broke through his concentration, like that infernal mortal "alarm clock" Thomas used to roust himself out of bed to bring the morning in with a run. 

Silence wasn't an unusual thing to be found in the flat they shared. There was the silence of comfortable domesticity; those times of warm quiet that crackled like hearth-fire when Loki would work on weaving new spells while Thomas curled up with a script. There was the silence of Thomas' absence- a sort of hushed purple anticipation, as if the house itself was awaiting his return, like those enchanted, anthropomorphic clocks and candelabras in the children's films of which the human was inexplicably fond. And then there was the silence of sleep. The deep blue canvas on which hung stars, and the verdant green of dreams. 

But this silence was none of those. It felt, tasted different. Loki cast a tendril of magic out like an antenna in order to feel it out, make more sense of it. He retracted it and furrowed his brow in concern. Black. Or more... grey verging on black. Black in a stage of becoming; London thick with rain at twilight. And something throbbing gently underneath it. The salty ebb and flow of waves lapping forward and then retreating. 

It was emanating from the sofa. 

Loki glanced over, his frown deepening. Tom lay curled up in one corner of it, feet tucked up underneath him, head lying on the armrest, arms crossed over loosely over his chest. He looked infinitely smaller than a man of his height should be allowed, and his eyes were cast down toward the floor, lids falling over them at half-mast. 

He sighed, a pang of tenderness tugging through him. Walking softly toward the sofa, he knelt and gently took Thomas' face in hands, turning it up towards his own. Thomas' eyes, usually always alight with something- be it joy, wonder, concentration, compassion, humor- were dull even through the weak smile he struggled out for Loki's benefit.

"Sorry, love," he sighed, "I don't really even know what's wrong..."

Loki tutted and dropped a kiss to his forehead, then climbed over him and insinuated himself between Thomas' body and the sofa cushions, cradling him back-to-chest. He tucked Thomas' head against his shoulder and wrapped one arm securely around his midsection while with the other he reached up to stroke soft blond curls between his fingers.

Then he began to sing.

The song- though the words would be strange to Thomas' ears- whispered of moonlit fields and fathomless mirror lakes; the last sparks of dying embers and lovers gone with the dawn. It trembled with the sweetness of new life wrought forth in echoing caves, then wailed with the agony of loss only mothers can feel at its keenest. It rattled and howled like a sudden, angry storm, then settled and stilled like snow when the wind had gone. 

Throughout it, Thomas' tears had followed its path. Loki held him as he shuddered and shook, never minding the hot, wet drops that soaked his sleeve, nor the broken gasps and strangled sobs that left his mouth like reluctant vows. 

Finally, when he had stilled, pushing himself even further back as if to crawl inside and stay, Loki sighed, kissed his cheek, and spoke.

"Frigga used to sing that to me on nights when I... when I wasn't myself." Thomas glanced up and watched him carefully through swollen eyes. He was met with a small but true smile as Loki continued. "I, in turn, used to sing it to Sleipnir, having added a verse or two of my own. In the beginning, after Odin... he'd grow so restless, and of course, no one but myself could quiet him. So I'd steal off to the stables after everyone else was sleeping, and I'd stroke his nose and his velvet ears and sing until he slept." 

His emerald eyes danced while he spoke of his son- something Thomas had never heard him do before and had dared not ask- and then darkened for a moment. He shook it away like a wisp of smoke, though, and continued, a sardonic lift of his brow replacing it.

"Thor would have you believe that a night of ale-slurping, crude jokes, and wanton rutting was the only cure for heartache." 

A corner of Thomas' mouth quirked up. "I take it you disagree?"

Loki chuckled darkly. "I think I'll let him tell you how that particular story ended."

Thomas laughed a watery little laugh, a sliver of light returning to his eyes. Loki stroked his cheek thoughtfully, silent for a moment, a small smile still turning his thin lips.

"I find, however, that sometimes pain is the only thing which can bring pain to bear. Tears are a magic, you know..."

Thomas furrowed his brows in silent query. Loki went on.

"They're a physical manifestation of what your heart holds. And any magic, when bottled up and not let free on occasion, can permanently damage the bearer."

Thomas exhaled long and slow and snuggled even closer, gripping Loki's hand and entwining the long fingers with his own.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Loki shook his head almost imperceptibly against Thomas' cheek. "Of course." Then with a wash of soft green magic, like a light, warm blanket, Thomas was asleep, curled up in Loki's embrace until morning would light his face again.


End file.
